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“Took a line drive to my temple during the last game of my senior year. Was out for two days. Took me a couple months to recover. No one wanted to touch me after that. Too risky.”
“Huh.” I cross my arms, tapping my mitt on my left shoulder as a pulsing in my core has me trying to squeeze away the growing flutter down low. “Risky. I can believe that.”
I toss a look over to the other team, who have been giving mine condescending looks since they arrived. I smile and wave, which seems to deflate them a bit. I may look like a pampered princess but I have a competitive streak as wide as the Montana sky and a stubborn streak as tall as Everest.
When I turn back, Cyrus makes no attempt to hide the way his eyes rove over me. Wherever they touch, an invisible tongue licks and flicks over my skin—not that I would know firsthand what that feels like. But, suddenly, I’m pretty sure it would be amazing.
“So.” He squeezes his jaw bone with long, thick fingers, rubbing them back and forth, making a raspy sound on his stubble. “I’m ready to do you.”
What did he say?
I open my mouth but he quickly corrects himself, “This. I mean. I’m ready to do this.”
A rush of blood and arousal races down from my center and into the slip of fabric between my legs. I double up on my squeezing and wonder again how he got the black eye, then wonder why it makes him even more attractive.
“We here to play or jerk off?”, one of the assholes from the other team shouts as I spin around.
“Are you kidding me with the language?” I throw up my hands, pointing toward my bench and the stands where kids from the center as young as five are watching.
And listening.
“Watch your mouth.” Cyrus steps up next to me and I swear to God he grows taller as he settles to my left, easing his body in front of mine.
My cheeks flame as my pulse thumps in my ears, both from anger but also because, oh my God. He smells so good, I start to get dizzy and I swear to Christmas, I get that little spiky pain just inside my hip bone you get when you’re ovulating.
“Doesn’t look like you are much of a fighter, so you might want to check yourself,” Cyrus says as Doug, the organizer of the other team, steps our way. But this is no place for a brawl, so I reach up and grip Cyrus’s forearm, his head snaps around, his dark eyes turning nearly black.
“This isn’t the time or place. Let’s take the high road and get the game going.” I wave Doug off and put on my biggest kiss-my-ass smile. “Let’s just get things going. We have kids here and it’s supposed to be fun.”
A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside Cyrus, and the hard muscle in his forearm twists under my fingers as he turns with me and we work our way back toward the dugout as I wave the team in.
“We’re winning this game,” Cyrus mumbles under his breath, low and thick, and it makes me shiver in the heat. “I don’t care what we are playing for. We’re winning.”
“Well, I don’t know if you noticed but the reason I had my father recruiting me a last minute ringer is because the opposing team is made up of high-school players that just won the regional championship. Seems Doug over there, didn’t get the memo this was supposed to be fun and friendly.”
I leave out that Doug is the head of the fund-raising department at the center and has been gunning for my job. At full salary, it would be a big step up for him. He came on board two years ago, stomping in and trying to imply I didn’t know what I was doing and that I was misusing funds.
I took the high road as I usually do.
To an outside observer, I fit the dumb-blonde bimbo-y stereotype, but I’m none of those. Besides the blonde. Makes people underestimate me.
I gave good ole Doug week to settle in, get to know me, then when he tried to humiliate me in a senior staff meeting, thinking I was some delicate flower, I blasted him with both barrels. Setting him straight on exactly where I spent my budget down to the last nickel.
Let’s just say, we haven’t been rubbing noses or elbows since.
Cyrus’s brow knits together, the set of his jaw turns frightening as he points toward the youngest player on our team, Brittany. She’s one of my mentees and tutoring students as well.
She’s tiny for her age due to neglect and malnutrition, but she’s bright with wide brown eyes and wild, curly auburn hair. After two years at the center and working with me and an entire team, she is just starting to realize the world isn’t full of monsters.
“Youngest is first at bat. Then, me.” Cyrus stares at me with a determined look and heat gathers in my center as my heart batters around inside my chest. “Trust me. I have a plan.”
This man is the last thing that should interest me, but God, I can’t keep my eyes off him. He’s lit up something unfamiliar and wicked inside me and I remember how I fantasied about him in the shower last night.
God help me, I imagined his tongue flicking at my clit. I wondered about his cock, if it was as huge and intimidating as he is…his scent is not helping as I soak my panties and try to ignore the ache in my pussy.
“Brittany.” I call to her with a smile and a clap. “You are going to be up first!”
“Yay!” She bounces off the bench, fist pumping the sky as I walk over and hand her a small bat, getting her tiny fingers in place.
